


wake me up and let me know you're alive

by homesickghosts



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Gen, Other, Sad, Short, implied self harm, ryan is tired kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homesickghosts/pseuds/homesickghosts
Summary: ryan enjoys spending his time laying on the floor and fighting with brendon urie





	wake me up and let me know you're alive

**Author's Note:**

> anyways this is all un edited i wrote this in 11 minutes bc i was feeling it and also bc i'm using fan fiction to cope me through a break up hahhahahahhaha nice
> 
> some warning for implied self harm
> 
> i looked at brendon's name for so long that my eyes are burning much like ryan wow amazing

He can’t do this anymore, he just can’t. There’s a taste of blood hinting in his mouth and his hands ache from where they’re clenched at his sides. His eyes are so heavy, and tired, and he’s so tired. He’s been tired for what feels like days; no amount of sleep helps. 

He lets the exhaustion run through him, and he collapses, down onto the dirty carpet. It scratches his face, but it’s the only thing that’s made him feel alive in a long time.

His freinds are there, somewhere, in the background, going about their daily lives. Everything moves around him, time slows down and he watches as his friends step over him, step around him. No one cares to ask if he’s okay, if he needs anything.

What does he need anyways?

He needs a drink. But that’s probably what got him here in the first place.

That’s not true, no. The constant back and forth bickering, the yelling. No one understands him, no one ever really has. And at some point, maybe Spencer did his best to understand, but at some point too, Spencer stopped caring.

The words started coming out of his mouth wrong. All wrong, each word a jagged edge, each word a sharp knife, that brought bile to his throat. It made his chest burn. And when he tries to explain, they just all nod in agreement because no one gets what he means but they don’t want to upset him.

A hair trigger. Anything sets him off. That’s what they all say, but it’s not true, never has been. He gets upset about a lot of shit but it’s always one of the guys shit. He’s told them time and time again what his words mean but they don’t listen.

He’s still laying on the floor. Maybe he’ll stay here for a while. It’s nice. Quiet. There’s no yelling.

And god, the yelling. If Brendon would just stop and listen to him for once, there wouldn’t be any fights. But Brendon’s Brendon and he’s never been good at listening.

He should’ve expected it.

Ryan pushes his nail into his wrist, leaving creasent moons. He can feel eyes on him, from his place on the floor. He knows someone’s watching. He pushes harder, he doesn’t care anymore.

And then someone’s there, telling him to get off his ass, to stand up, to man up. And his throat is burning with unspoken words and held back tears because everything fucking sucks. It’s always fucking sucked. Nothing changes.

He didn’t know what he was expecting.  
And then there’s a hand in his hair, pulling, persuading him to get to his feet despite his bones protests.

He mumbles an absent “fuck off” but lets it happen, he always has.

Brendon’s in his face yelling, “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” If Ryan knew, he’d tell him, but he doesn’t know.

All he knows is that there’s a burning in his chest and an itch in his veins and he’s so tired. Asleep on his feet, on Brendon’s chest. Brendon is pissed, he can hear it in the way Brendon’s heart is thumping against his ear. Can hear it in his voice. 

Brendon shoves him back, Ryan lets his body be pushed and pulled in every direction. He doesn’t care anymore. He stopped caring a long time ago.

“I want to leave,” Brendon says. He spits it out, like he’s been dying to say it for years now, and he probably has.

“Me too,” Ryan whispers, mumbles really. His eyes are closed because god he’s so tired, he’s just swaying on his feet.

“I’m sick of your shit, I’m leaving,” Brendon says, grabbing Ryan again. Ryan opens his tired eyes.

“Why’d you stay in the first place?” Ryan asks, and Brendon drops him again, lets him fall back down on the floor. Brendon laughs, from somewhere above him and Ryan doesn’t mind. Ryan really doesn’t mind.

He closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry my sad ass is like this


End file.
